Wings of Liberty
by TemporaryUsername1
Summary: A small task force of Terran ships are displaced from the Starcraft universe into the Warhammer universe. Will a reluctlant Emperor Valerian Mengsk have the will to command it to victory? Or will he be crushed into ashes by a galaxy suffering from thousands of years of war?
1. SNAFU

**Chapter I: SNAFU**

It had not been a good day for Emperor Valerian Mengsk of the newly-reformed Terran Dominion. In fact, this whole week had gone to shit. It had only been 3 years since the destruction of Amon and the hybrid threat, and _already_ the political infighting and bickering had started. His current headache was a very simple matter that had been blown completely out of proportion, thanks in no measure by the unwillingness of the two parties to work together. The issue was the day of the elections. Ever since he had announced his intention to abdicate and have free democratic elections, the two major political groups had been fighting about _election day_. The National People's Party wanted it on the birthday of his deceased father, Arcturus Mengsk. The Democratic-Labor Party, an unlikely fusion of two very different idealogies wanted it on the first Tuesday of November. Why? He had no idea. Both sides had argued about it for weeks until the leaders of the parties refused to even speak to each other. It was a political clusterfuck that he wanted no part in. He was half-tempted to cancel the elections just to see the shitstorm he would conjure up. Of course, that would never happen. He still smiled at the thought of it. Even he could pretend once in a while, no?

It had been a huge relief when he had gotten word of the testing of an experimental new warpdrive. He'd use any excuse to get away from the toxic political-land known as Augustgrad. He snorted. If this was how democracy worked, he wasn't seeing much out of the future. However, he would never tread the path of his father; he adhered to the concept that no one man should have absolute power, for absolute power corrupted absolutely. A cliché, but even cliché were clichés for a reason.

His musings were interrupted by the First Mate. "Officer on deck!"

The entire Command Information Center went dead silent as Commodore Damian Rohan stepped into the room. He fired back a casual salute at the crew. "At ease, sailors." Chatter again picked up as normal activity resumed. Commodore Rohan walked over to where Valerian was standing.

Commodore Damian "Trouble" Rohan was an average man by all physical standards. At exactly 6 foot, he wasn't the shortest but he wasn't overwhelmingly tall either. His face had no memorable features, except perhaps a faint scar that ran down his sideburns. A gift from a zergling. His jet-black hair was combed neatly to the side, in a typically efficient military-style. What was perhaps the most striking about him, however, were his eyes. His piercing green eyes had all the intensity of a nuclear blast but with the focus of a laser scapel. There was an urban rumor floating around that he had almost been fired as a clerk, but he had stared down his boss until he had relented. In short, he was a man you did not want to mess with.

"Emperor Mengsk. It is an honor."

Valerian smiled. "Hopefully not for long, Commodore Rohan. I pray the democratic process proves suitable for our great nation as it plows through the waves of fate."

A small smile crept up the corners of Rohan's mouth. "I see your flowery language hasn't change one bit, my soon-not-to-be-Emperor."

"Old habits die hard, my friend." With that, the two embraced.

"You bastard. You haven't changed a bit. Hell, I'd say you're shorter now than ever," said Valerian teasingly.

Rohan's face contorted into one of great offence. "Shorter? Surely your eyes deceive you. Perhaps some laser surgery is in need for my Royal Highness."

"If anyone is in need of laser surgery, it is you, Damian. Perhaps an operation on your, uh, genital areas? We can't be having individuals such as _you_ reproducing. Imagine the corruption you'd bring to our gene pool! No. You must never be allowed to reproduce. In fact, I think this mandates an Imperial Order. My first and last before I abdicate the crown."

A knock on the head from the Commodore revealed that it was not funny. No jokes about that area of the body ever were.

* * *

**4 hours later**

The Dining Room was ornately decorated, with red walls overlaid by gold bands that ran around the room. The table was obviously built for far more than the current occupancy for two, and was very expensive-looking as well.

Dinner was fantastic, a very impressive feat considering their location and the materials the chefs had to work with. Valerian made a mental note to give the mess hall staff a pay raise after this particular vacation was over.

"So," asked Rohan in between bites of caviar, "How's running the nation been so far?"

Valerian put his face between his hands. "Awful, my dear Damian. Just awful. Can you believe we're fighting about what day we're going to put elections on? Jesus Christ, some days I swear the leaderships of both parties just graduated kindergarten."

Rohan nodded. "I feel you. Back when I was a paper-pusher myself there was a lot of shit I had to deal with. An order for a coffee machine for the office took 11 weeks to process and another 7 weeks to deliver. Jesus, can you imagine 18 weeks with no coffee?"

Mengsk attempted to do so, then found it was too painful to imagine. So he simply shook his head.

"Best decision of my life," continued Rohan. "Leaving that hellhole and enlisting. You have no idea how liberating that is. Just getting free of all the bureaucrats with their bureaucrap. And miles of paperwork. Shit, I still do paperwork, but it isn't one-tenth of what I used to do. And that was as a low-level 'crat. I don't think I'd survive at the top. Honestly, I should have just let myself get fired that one time. Remember? I stared at that motherfu-"

Rohan's sentence was interrupted by the ringing of a sudden klaxon. Used since the early 20th century on bicycles, there was no better way to communicate sudden danger to a crew. Mengsk's bodyguards rushed in, pulling the unfortunate Emperor off his chair. Others took positions around the room, pointing their deadly C-14 rifles at the door. CMC armor meant guards couldn't bury their principal any more, but they sure as hell could stand in front of him. Which accomplished basically the same thing.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Mengsk.

The leader of the small, selective unit answered, "We don't know, sir. But we recommend staying put until the crisis is over."

A member of the crew took this unfortunate moment to run into the room. Suddenly noticing the large number of loaded guns pointed his way, he nervously put his shaking hands up.

"A message from the CIC," he squeaked. "A malfunction with the warpdrive. Uhh, nothing's clear as of right now."

Valerian took this as a chance to get out of his protective circle. "At ease, soldiers." When he saw none of them listened, he repeated, "_At ease_, gentlemen." They finally caught on and reluctantly lowered their weapons.

Emperor Mengsk walked over to the very frightened crewmate. "Son, can you lead Commodore Rohan and I up to the CIC? We can get a better sense of what's going on up there. I'm sure these kind gentlemen will make themselves useful _someone else_ while we figure out this snafu."

"Y-yes, your Highness," said the man in a very small voice.

"Very well. Lead on."

Once they reached the CIC, Valerian could see it was bad. Very bad. Bad as in FUBAR-bad.

Rohan's word perfectly summed up their situation. "Shit."

The fleet itself had taken no damage. Nothing had changed _inside_ the fleet. The problem was outside. Because it seemed they had someone jumped right in the middle of a battle between two opposing forces. Two very angry forces.

"Contact! Radar shows 2,191 unidentified small spacecraft and 28 capital-level ships. Nearest contact 17,000 kilometers. Energy levels in the gigatons, sir."

Another crewmate with a similar yet totally different task suddenly shouted, "Contact! Vampire, vampire, vampire! Missiles in the air, ETA 4 minutes. Leaking radiation, highly likely to be nuclear in nature!"

Rohan and Mengsk shared a look. It was Mengsk who said it this time. "Shit."


	2. Why We Fall

**Chapter II: Why We Fall**

Rohan froze for a moment before taking control of the situation. "Fleet sitrep! What the hell is going on?"

"All ships alive and operational, sir. DNS _Leyte Gulf_ reports minor damage to shields, most likely from a large piece of space debris."

"I thought you had adjutants for this?" asked Valerian.

Rohan fired back, "I prefer a live person."

Valerian nodded. "Fair eno-"

"Negatory on that first statement, cap. The _Hyperion_ isn't showing up on FleetNet or on the sensors."

"What?!" demanded Valerian.

"Missiles two minutes out and closing. 19 contacts designated Sierra, sir."

The tension in the CIC was palpable.

"Can we jump out of the way?"

"Negative, sir. The jump left our jump drive on cooldown for another 10 minutes."

They'd be lucky to be alive in that time.

"Spread out the fleet! Longhorn formation! I want limited casualties in case any of those missiles hit," barked Rohan. "Get me the _Expedition_."

"Aye, sir." Two seconds later, a communications link was opened up between one of the two Explorer-class Science Vessel in the task force.

"Captain Dougherty! Sitrep on your vessel."

Dougherty's eyes flicked downwards to his infosheet before he looked up and said, "Energy tanks full, sir. Shields and hull integrity at 100 percent, and nanorepair beams functional. All other functions are available as well."

Rohan thought for a split second before responding, "I want defensive matrix, cast on the _Edge, Leyte Gulf, Judicator _and_ Hellraiser, _all the older models. The rest of us can use it ourselves. I need this yesterday, captain. Do you understand?"

Captain Dougherty gave off a crisp salute before shouting off orders to his crew.

"Get me Captain Philips!" fired off Rohan, the situation now critical. A few seconds later, Captain Phililps of the DNS _Edge of Infinity_ appeared on his comms screan.

"Yes, commodore?"

Rohan and Phililps had known each other since they were 4 years old. They had grown up together, all the way from kindergarten to the Dominion Naval Academy, where they had graduated at top 1 and 2 in their class.

A moment of weakness overtook Rohan for a moment before he regained his professional composure. "As you are surely aware, there are currently 19 missiles headed towards the _Executor_. If the missiles get through and… the _Executor_ goes down, I am ordering you to take command. Is that clear, captain?"

Philips stared at the screen for a second before nodding. "Aye, commodore. But let me warn you, if you die on me now I will personally hunt you down and kick your ass, sir."

Rohan laughed. Funny how humor came upon men in the face of certain death.

"I can live with that, captain. Good luck and lets kick some ass. Rohan out."

He switched to the live radar display and found the 19 missiles still steadily headed towards the _Executor_.

"One minute till impact!"

"How long till in Phalanx range?"

"About 20 seconds, sir."

The Phalanx Close-In Weapons System is the Dominion navy's most recent breakthrough; mounted on the ships themselves, they are the capital ship equivalent of point-defense drones. The idea behind the Phalanx CIWS is not complicated; instead of shooting a missile with a pinpoint accurate burst, fill the area with so much material the missile is not be able to penetrate. With a rate-of-fire of 150,000 bullets a minute or 10 _million_ a minute at near light speed, it is one of the best defensive weapons produced by the Dominion. The lack of any moving parts except for the bullet makes it so the weapon can never jam. Appropriately nicknamed "Metal Storm," it has a 97.9 percent success rate against enemy missiles and can be used successfully against enemy fighters as well.

The other anti-missile system used by the Dominion is the Maelstrom Defensive Missile Pods. When the new missile pods on battlecruisers were deemed inefficient, they were upgraded to the Maelstrom missile pods, defensive missiles designed to shoot down other missiles, although they can also be used against spacecraft as well. The Maelstrom missiles have an almost 98.6 percent success rate against missiles.

Both of these weapons systems have ensured that the Dominion Navy has never lost a ship to missiles. The odds of a projectile making it through both the Phalanx and Maelstrom systems were about 3 out of a million, or 0.029 percent. In other words, there was absolutely no chance a single missile could make it through.

However, there were currently 19 missiles headed for the fleet, each with a yield estimated to be in the hundreds of megatons. While the Defensive Matrix would absorb most of the hit, the shields of a targeted ship would take a massive hit; additional missiles would probably destroy the target.

"Maelstrom missiles away! 48 seconds to impact!"

A few second later, Rohan could see the first of the enemy missiles taken down by 2 simultaneous hits by Maelstrom missiles.

"Phalanx system online! 14 vampires remaining!"

Valerian gripped the chair. The missiles were getting awfully close. Unbeknownst to him, his face and hand were both deathly white due to the stress and his grip on the chair.

"Splash eight, 11 vampires left! 24 seconds to impact!"

They weren't going to get them all in time. Valerian closed his eyes, whispering softly while Rohan stared ahead with a stoic determination.

"7 remaining! 17 seconds!" The announcements were getting noticeably shorter.

"4 left! 8 seconds! 7! 6! 5 seconds to impact! 3 missiles remaining!"

He got no further. There was a sudden white flash as the DNS _Edge of Infinity_ materialized in front of their screens.

"WHAT?!" roared Rohan. "I NEVER AUTHORIZED THIS."

The comms screen came back to life. "I'm sorry sir, I can't let you leave before me. Else I'd have to kick your ass."

"Get out of there Philips! I'll kill you!"

The first missile struck. The Defensive Matrix held, a flash of green indicating where the deadly payload had exploded. The matrix collapsed as a second missile hit.

"Too late, sir. Good luck, and if I find you down there with me in less than 20 years I'll- I'll-"

He never got to finish his sentence. The Defensive Matrix drained by the first two hits, the third multi-megaton rocket smashed through what was left of the _Edge of Infinity_'s shields and exploded on the left side of the battlecruiser.

In most movies, a ship explodes with a certain dignity; the fireball expands, the ship crumbles and all is lost to the fire. In reality, it is quite different. The explosion that killed the _Edge of Infinity _was not all that large, as the vacuum of space made it impossible for shockwaves or fireballs to form. However, the sheer force of the payload was enough. The hull was ripped apart and the once-mighty ship began to leak atmosphere. From the _Executor_'s CIC Rohan could only watch in horror as thousands of men were sucked outside, the sudden pressure differential causing their lungs to burst. Pieces of furniture, people, planes and even a random dog were all sucked outside into the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space. Rohan could only watch helplessly as his closest friend's vessel was ripped to pieces.

Miraculously, the _Edge of Infinity_'s communications array was still active- and still broadcasting. On the screen, he could see the CIC of the ship was ruins, with people crumbled over desks and screens crackling with electricity.

To the shock of everyone in the _Executor_'s CIC, a disheveled and bloody but otherwise unharmed Captain Philips stood up, using the command table as a support.

"Hansen! HANSEN! Get to the escape pods now! This is an order!" yelled a frantic Commodore Rohan.

Philips attempted a grin, only to almost fall down again in a coughing fit. "Too… late. I… I'm done."

"NO! IT'S NOT TOO LATE!"

"Re- remember what your dad always told you? Whenver you came home with a bruise or with blood because you fell or got in a fight? Remember?"

Tears streaming down like a flood, Commodore Damion Yates Rohan nodded. "Yes, yes I do remember."

Captain Jason Philips cracked a painful smile. "Why do we fall, Damion?"

Not able to take it any longer, Rohan cracked as he fell back into his chair. "So… so we can learn to pick ourselves… up."

"Always remember that, sir. Remember to pick… yourself…"

The screen faded.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" It was a cry of anguish deep from the soul itself. A raw sound only made possible by the deepest of grief. The grief of losing a friend, a friend closer to you than your father ever was. A friend who stood by you as you were bullied by your own brothers, who took blows for you when you could not get up. Perhaps his only friend besides Valerian. And now he was gone.

A maelstrom of emotions clouded Rohan's face as he struggled to accept the fact that his best friend was now gone. Shock turned to disbelief turned to grief turned to anger. No emotion in his voice, Rohan spoke to his weapons officer.

"Ready the Yamato Cannon."


	3. Consequences

**Chapter III: Consequences**

Valerian looked over at Rohan's face. The tears were nowhere to be seen. In their place was a cold, hard, emotionless face.

"All ships concentrate firepower on that... ship!" said Rohan furiously, designating the enemy vessel that had fired the missiles. It was 6.5 kilometers long, just less than 6 times larger than the backbone of the Dominion fleet, the _Behemoth_-class battlecruiser. The display exploded in a display of color as all 49 remaining battlecruisers rained down a storm of laser fire. The immense amount of fire power reached out to the enormous ship... and did nothing. It seemed their enemy had energy shields as well.

"Rapidly building energy signatures! They're about to fire, sir!"

"How long till Yamatos?" growled Rohan.

The technician checked his display. "Just under 20 seconds, sir."

Then, the enemy ship fired. To his dying days, Rohan would never forget the sight. Streaks of light discharged from the side of the craft, lancing out towards the Dominion task force. The results were spectacular.

It was like the wrath of God was being unleashed. Five of his ships were hit, the golden beam blowing through the Defensive Matrix in a fraction of a second before smashing into their hulls. Three exploded outright as the ray hit their underbellies, where the armor was the thinnest. The other two were damaged almost beyond repair, their life supports barely functioning.

"Sweet mother of mercy," whispered Rohan. He had lost men before; what commander hadn't? But never on this scale, this fast. Over 40,000 men, obliterated in less than a second.

"Energy signatures climbing again, sir! Recommend immediate evac!" Even the usually stoic ELINT officer was unnerved.

"Status on Yamtos?!"

"14 seconds, sir! And more missiles inbound!"

Rohan gritted his teeth. Fire the Yamatos, _maybe_ destroy an enemy ship, and lose a few more of his own. Retreat, and lose no more, but have a chance at taking out the ship that had killed so many of his men.

"Rohan! We have to get the hell out of here now!" screamed Valerian.

Frozen, Rohan stared at the screen, watching the energy levels climbing and missiles closing the distance. Using the Yamatos would leave his ships unable to use their warp drives for at least ten minutes. And yet, it seemed preposterous to leave without even attempting to avenge their dead.

"Commodore Rohan! As your Commander-in-Chief I am ordering you to withdraw!" said Valerian in a voice that hinged near panic. He grabbed Rohan. "We're no good to the dead if we're dead too, are we? Now give the damn order!"

His eyes turned to glass as he nodded after what seemed like an eternity. "Initiate Emergency Protocol 9912. All ships warp to temporary evac position. Technician? Send the coordinates." He turned to the helmsman. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Mere moments after the words left his mouth, all 46 ships remaining in Task Force Centaur disappeared into the folds of the warp.

* * *

"I want answers, and I them now, Captain!" said Inquisitor Kessel in a particularly belligerent manner.

The Space Marine Captain stared back, unfazed by the outburst. He was used to dealing with the Inquisition. "As I have already informed you, there was _absolutely no way_ our force would have been able to capture those ships. If you had bothered to be on deck during the assault you would have noticed our fleet came under attack from Eldar forces as we were about to establish a communications channel. Now excuse me, Inquisitor. I have important affairs to deal with, such as the wounded. I suggest you make yourself scarce as well before the situation... escalates."

A vein threatened to pop in the tall, balding man's head as he struggled to contain his rage. "I... understand, captain. I merely wished to congratulate you for your success against the vile xenos." He turned around sharply and left.

When he was sure the man was out of hearing range, Captain Azrael Bernael Gallus shared a chuckle with his fellow Battle Brothers. "It seems our most pious… comrade has deduced we are somehow to blame for the appearance of the filthy Eldar."

"Indeed, Captain. If it were not respect for his rank, I would have separated his head from his body long ago."

Gallus whipped his head around. "Those are treacherous thoughts, Brother. Remember in the end, we all are in the service of the Emperor. Even unto death."

A nod. "Even unto death, Captain. As Chapter Master Trajan would have said."

The bridge grew silent at the mention of their Chapter Master, whom they believed had succumbed to the abominable forces of Chaos, although it was not certain. It had been a sobering experience, even for the battle-hardened Astartes.

It had been an accident. A mere week after the disastrous Battle of Cadia, the Navigator had unintentionally led them into a full-blown Chaos invasion of a minor Forge World, Yalis IV. In the resulting battle, their battlebarge, the _Helm of the Dominator_ had been boarded. In an effort to buy time for the warp engine to come online, Trajan had held his own against hordes of the enemy, getting the precious minutes needed to escape, but at the cost of his life. They had not even found the body; indeed, their greatest fear was to someday meet their former Chapter Master on the field of battle, but on the other side.

* * *

As the officers of Task Force Liberty gathered in the conference room of the _Executor_, an awful silence came over the room as the enormity of what had just occurred began to sink into their heads. It had been a humbling experience, seeing the best of the fleet getting blasted apart by the afterthoughts of an unforgiving giant.

The room itself was not large, but not small as to be uncomfortable. Shaped in a rectangle approximately 70 feet long and 50 feet wide, it was, as were most of the other rooms in the ship, designed to be space-efficient. For the seventeen people in attendance, including four marines, it was more than enough.

Unlike the dining room, the conference room was plain and utilitarian in appearance, showing none of the regal splendor present in the other sections of the vessel, and having no items of décor whatsoever. A large holo-table dominated the center of a large, gray table, showing various statistics and projections. All in all, it was a room designed for functionality, not flashiness.

Valerian broke the silence, nodding in the direction of Rohan. "How's the fleet doing, Commodore?"

Rohan's face twisted into a grimace. "Not good, sir. We lost the _Augustograd, Polaris, James Iovine, LeBron, Thundergod _and_ Leyte Gulf_. _Executor_ and _Hellraiser_ suffered minor damage from shrapnel, but nothing the droids can't handle. Total casualties are 49,182, excluding civilians. We're still trying to find out who were on those ships."

The full weight of the announcement hit the room like a tornado. Almost _50,000 _lives had been lost, snuffed out in the wake of a battle between two groups they didn't even know. Various emotions flickered throughout the room, ranging from shock, grief, disbelief and rage. Most decided on rage, while others confusedly switched between shock and disbelief.

"A memorial service for the fallen has been scheduled for tomorrow." Nods, although some frowned, thinking it was far too early. "And now I yield the floor to Dr. Henry McLain, who may have an explanation on what the hell is going on."

Damian stepped aside as another man walked to the front. Valerian frowned. The man in front of him did not fit the stereotypical description of a "mad scientist." Rather, he was completely the opposite. Large, physically fit and with a military haircut, and enormous at 6'7, he would not have seemed out of place in a Special Forces division.

Apparently one of the others had noticed that as well. "You sure you didn't bring one of the Spec Ops in here on accident, Commodore?" asked one, causing a chain of chuckles to circulate around the room. Military humor, thought Valerian. I'll never understand it.

The man cleared his throat before he spoke. "We have a lot of information to cover, so I'll make my introduction brief. My name is Dr. Henry McClain, assistant to Dr. Mary Sue and Marty Stu. They were both on the _Thundergod_ and are now missing, presumed dead. Thus, I have taken over as head scientist of this task force." He cleared his throat once more. "Now, to the briefing. As you all are aware, we are not where we are supposed to be. However, I have just discovered we are not just displaced in terms of _space_ but also _time_."

He shuffled nervously on his feet, a move that appeared quite alien to his imposing body. "A twelve years ago, Dr. Yeltzig Heimer of the Goer Technological Institute theorized that given sufficient energy, a special type of engine could be made that would travel at faster-than-light speeds _out_ of warp space, in normal space, thus moving forward in time. The first blueprints were drawn up personally by Dr. Heimer himself, and he would later receive the Bering Award for his work in this field. A year after Dr. Heimer's proposed designs, the project was mysteriously scrapped by the institute and the Dominion confiscated all of his work. Heimer was later revealed to have been a scammer, was stripped of his accolades and later commited suicide.

"Dr. Heimer was not a scammer," said McClain, his speech starting to babble, a trait commonly associated with scientists when they were excited. "He was a genius, and he was killed for his work by the Dominion. When the Dominion confiscated his work, they realized this truly was possible, and Project Gateway was born to capitalize on his research. At first, Gateway went nowhere. Dominion scientists could not get past Dr. Heimer's work or the energy requirements and the project was stalled for months. However, breakthroughs by Dr. Mary Sue and Marty Stu, as well as captured protoss technology allowed them to finally create a prototype."

Murmurs floated throughout the room. It was obviously the first time any of them had heard this.

Dr. McClain was oblivious to it all. "Remember the Dreamworks theater explosion? Caused by Gateway. Over 700 dead, and 2000 injured in an enormous explosion. Raynor was blamed, but the true cause was that prototype. But the important thing was, the prototype had _worked_. They had turned on the machine six miles under the surface on a Monday, and it appeared in a theater halfway around the world on _Wednesday_.

"Three weeks later, Korhal was invaded by Kerrigan and Raynor and Project Gateway was buried under a thousand tons of molten neosteel. But four years ago, it was rediscovered. As you already know, the reason we needed so many ships in this experiment was because of the energy requirements. In order to power this thing, we either needed a generator as large as four battlecruisers, or the combined power of fifty. We chose the latter."

Valerian jumped to his feet, outrage plastered on his face. "Now, now, wait a second. Why was I never told about this? I was told this was a new warp drive!"

McClain was equally confused. "You didn't know, sir? I thought you were. And yes, this was supposed to be a new warp drive. It was supposed to be able to cross the galaxy in less than a week at a fraction of the power of our current warp drives. Obviously this was a prototype, thus requiring the immense power, but later vers-"

"I don't give a damn about the warp drive, Dr. McClain," cut off Valerian. "I want to know why we had to lose 50,000 men and women and why the hell I wasn't informed of this."

McClain meekly withdrew as Rohan took the stage. He deeply inhaled and exhaled. "The odds of such thing happening were less than one in thirty-one trillion, sir. We felt… it was not necessary to tell you of what could have happened."

"I see, Commodore," said Valerian coldly. "Last time I checked, I am still the leader of this nation. There is no need-to-know basis when it concerns me. I need to know _everything_. That mistake cost us good men, Commodore Rohan."

"I understand, sir. But the odds were-"

"_Do you understand, Commodore_?"

Rohan swallowed. Valerian Mengsk may seem like a meek, scholarly figure at first glance, but he could be a tough son of a bitch when he wanted to. "Yessir. I'll personally make sure that happens."

"Good. Now, Dr. McClain, continue with your briefing."

"As I was saying, the new engine was supposed to revolutionize transportation. However, as Commodore Rohan already mentioned, there was a very slight chance that there would be an unintended side effect. We are almost certainly at our destination, in that case Char, but we have been displaced temporally as well. From my calculations, it seems we have been moved forward in time several dozen millennia. The exact date is unknown, but it can be anywhere from 22,000 to 48,000 years into the future."

A silence descended on the room as the implications of such an event hit the group like a brick. Finally, one of the captains asked the question that was in everyone's head. "Is there a way back?"

McClain stared at the captain, his eyes blank. His hands shook as he delivered the verdict. "No, sir. There is no way back."


	4. Backstab

**Chapter IV: Backstab**

GX-119 descended into the mild afternoon atmosphere with all the flourish of a bar of soap. One of several thousand deployed into the planet and a Cobra-class scout droid, it stood at a puny 0.3 meters, the bare minimum required to pack in the highly sensitive sensors inside the droid.

Razor-thin antennae extended from the domed head of the droid, reaching into the skies to prepare for transmission. After establishing contact with the primary AI of the _Executor_, GX-119 began its work.

* * *

The bridge was empty save for a few of the more important crewmembers, Valerian and Rohan. Electricity buzzed through the room as the ship's artificial intelligences ran various system checks and scans, always on the lookout for problems. The AIs ran most of the ship - hell, most of the fleet now. Human reflexes and thinking were simply far too slow to properly manage spacecraft, especially in battle. Less than a year ago the _Executor_ would have been carrying a crew of 18,000. Now it was a "mere" 8,000, most unnecessary personnel having been given the pink slip. Such was the Darwinian cycle of business, even in government.

Valerian frowned. It was a facial expression he was beginning to grow far more familiar with than he liked.

"How long till the first report, Damian?" he asked.

"Any minute now, sir," replied Rohan, who was currently busying himself on the holographic display.

His frown grew deeper. The task force had been forced to warp into this system after scans had revealed no planets capable of supporting life within 10 light-years. The task force was starting to run out of water, and food supplies were also growing dangerously low. Water wasn't a problem, as they could simply chug in any of the water-rich asteroids and fill their tanks to the max. The problem was food. Terran recyclers could infinitely recycle dirt, one's fecal matter, or any other organic substance into food, but that could only go on so long. Several crewmembers were dangerously low on both vitamins and minerals, and he would _not_ stand for losing any of his crew to scurvy or some other ridiculous condition.

Valerian forced a grim chuckle. Scurvy! It was ridiculous. Scurvy had been a major problem in the 18th century, more than _700 _years ago. Yet now the most advanced Terran battlegroup ever formed was being forced to land because of an ancient disease easily prevented by a simple citrus fruit. It was madness.

Valerian's musings were interrupted by the dull, monotone voice of the adjutant. "Incoming CRITIC-flagged transmission from probe droid GX-119. No malware has been detected."

"Play the transmission," said Rohan, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air.

The video screen closest to the duo came to life, revealing a dull, grainy picture. Static fizzed across the screen before flickering out. In its place was…

"Is that.. an orc?!" exclaimed Valerian, who had grown up an avid reader and occasional watcher of fantasy.

"A what?" asked Rohan, his face twisted in confusion.

"An orc. Big, hairy, green monsters that somehow always end up serving a Dark Lord of some sort… you know? Never mind."

The picture focused, centering on one of the organisms. It was a sickly color, primal armor stretching over smooth green skin. Short legs and long arms gave it an ape-like appearance that was further bolstered by its large face. It hefted a rough battleaxe and a square firearm of some sort. At 2 meters it was slightly taller than an average human, although shorter than a marine in CMC-550 armor.

"WAAAGH!"

The "orc" ferociously leaped at the probe droid, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Before either of the men could react, the creature was on top of the droid, pounding at it with its axe.

"It can't actually _break_ the droid, can it?" asked Valerian.

"Of course not. Cobras are designed to tank hypersonic C-14 rounds, not primitive melee weapons. It'll be completely invulnerable to the… thing."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did one of the arm of the droid fall to the ground with a feral crack. The axe again came down, this time into the camera, making the display go black. A moment later, the droid's electronic signal disappeared.

Valerian snorted. "Invulnerable, _my ass_."

"That… should not be possible," said Rohan. "The thing was tested to withstand sustained C-14 fire. It's not _supposed_ to go down to an oversized gorilla with an axe."

"Obviously this "oversized gorilla" didn't feel obliged to adhere to your tests. What're the results from our scans?"

"DNA scans indicate that these creatures are actually _two_ creatures - an animal and a fungus in a symbiotic relationship. There's no way in hell this is an evolutionary trait; I've asked our lab to analyze the data, and it's pretty conclusive that these gorillas were genetically modified or created."

"Like the zerg?"

"Exactly like the zerg," confirmed Rohan.

"Any hints on their technological development level? Or society?" inquired Mengsk.

"We've actually been able to learn quite a bit from our probes. They're extremely warlike, and are constantly infighting in competition for resources and mates. They're exceptionally strong and surprisingly agile, and can handle their weapons with surprising deftness," replied Rohan. "Overall, they're dangerous, but primitive. Remarkably, they seem to speak Terran, or at least a messed-up variant of it. Their language is almost childlike."

"What do our xenologists suggest?"

"They want to talk to them, obviously. The fact that we share a common language eliminates most problems right off the bat, and a few of the crazier ones have volunteered to go talk to 'em. The chopper leaves in 3 hours," said Rohan with a grunt. "More power to them, I suppose. Although I feel for the poor bastards on escort duty."

* * *

**3 hours later**

Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Hartley Ramsay glanced out the dropship window. Jungle canopy spread as far as his augmented eye could see - which was pretty damn far. The Military Augmentation Act, passed in 2408, had made ocular, muscular, skeletal and neural augmentations mandatory for enlisted personnel. It had also banned neural resocialization and recruitment from prisons. The Dominion Marine Corps was now an entirely volunteer military made up of well-trained, well-equipped and most importantly, loyal soldiers. It was a radical divergence from the mostly criminal Dominion military of a mere five years ago.

"This may be the greatest day of my life, Roman," said one of the science pukes, excitement plastered across his face.

"It's a historic day, Vernon," replied Roman. "Our names will go down in history… and in textbooks."

"I've never gotten a chance to work on a true _alien _species, you know. I didn't get to be a part of the initial research group working on the zerg, and I've been waiting for my opportunity since."

"I _was_ a part of that group, and I must admit, it was exciting work. We could do all sorts-"

Paulson, a stocky private swept up his arm in a dismissive gesture. "Ay, shut it, you two. Nobody here gives a flying fuck what you two did or did not do in the past. Let's keep it quiet and save the chatter for when we actually talk to the gorillas, aight?

Vernon stared openmouthed while Roman glared at Paulson with an indignant look on his face. "How about you keep yourself quiet and let the _intelligent_ people here take care of everything. All you need to do is keep your mouth shut and do what you're paid to do. I am a recipient of _three_ Graham Awards for the Progression of Science and Technology, and…"

At this point Paulson zoned out Roman - literally, calibrating the implant in his ear to filter out Roman's voice. Technically against regulations, but Staff Sergeant Chavez had done it himself plenty of times.

Ramsay stared from the back, watching the debacle with a half-amused look on his face. Paulson noticed the fact, and turned to face him.

"What you looking at, _freak_?"

No response.

"I asked you a question. Answer me!"

"Hey, cool it, Private!" said Sergeant Chavez, putting an end to the verbal conflict.

Not much was known about Gunnery Sergeant Ramsay. He had a slim, sharp face, unlike many others in the military. His cheekbone jutted out slightly and he his dark brown hair was cut down into a buzz cut. His razor-edged look-averting green eyes were his most memorable feature, giving him a fierce but reserved look.

He was also the Dominion's top-certified sniper, with over 217 killed credited to his name.

The Sarge's voice barked in Ramsay's head. "2 mikes to LZ, boys. Strap up and get ready to haul ass. Diggs, take point. Greenburg, I want you to stay back and be prepared to lay down some suppressive fire. Remember, our primary mission is the protect our principals. _Nothing_ comes before that. Got it?"

"Aye, aye, sir," chorused back the men.

"Let's do this, boys."

"HOORAH!"

Ramsay merely stood in the back, watching with his ever so impassive face.

The dropship touched down well beneath the thick canopy of the jungle, the loud, hydraulic noise of the landing gear chasing away any curious animals. An eerie silence descended over the LZ as the area cleared itself of motile organisms in an instant.

Corporal Gabriel Diggs was the first out of the dropship, his heavy 5-4 Armored Infantry Suit digging into the soft ground. Jake Stevenson, another marauder, stepped out next, followed by eight marines and 6 xenologists. Then, Ramsay nimbly walked out.

Not an inch of his skin was visible - he had deployed his helmet moments before stepping out. He scanned the area, his advanced sensors bringing in a wealth of information to his helmet. His lithe form contrasted the bulky suits of the marines and marauders. Then, he found something - something dangerous.

"Get down!" he yelled, pushing down Lieutenant Boyles with enough force to shatter a boulder. The other soldiers were also quick to react - they had learned to listen to his words.

A split second later, the air rang with the sound of fire.

DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!

Ramsay' early warning saved the lives of all of the squad; the xenologists were not so fortunate. Half of them were ripped to shreds as dozens of alien bullets riddled their unarmored frames. Dark, crimson blood splattered the survivors, while pieces of brain matter and chunks of tissue were liberally distributed across the area.

"CONTACT!"

_Shootas_, thought Ramsay. _Those are Shootas. We're under attacks by - orks?! And how the hell do I know this?_

"RUN! GO! GET TO DA CHOPPER!" yelled Corporal Diggs, his deep voice resonating throughout the LZ. The surviving xenologists turned to run - then the dropship exploded in a deafening explosion, knocking the hapless scientists to the ground and sending deadly shrapnel flying out in all directions. Even more of the xenologists were hit, their dying cries drowned by the sounds of battle.

_That was a Rokit_. _Fired by a Rokit Boy about 200 meters to my 2 o'clock. _

"Regroup! Cover the principals!" said the staff sergeant. "Form a perimeter!"

C-14 fire ripped through the air at unseen targets, tearing through the local flora with frightening ease. A moment later, the squad saw their foes.

Their enemy was far more hideous in real life than in the vids they had seen. Green screen stretched over large, ape-like bodies, while primitive armor covered parts of their chest and shoulder. The first few that came into vision were immediately splattered into the ground as the combined firepower of 8 separate C-14 gauss rifles slammed into its chest. Then, another one came out, followed by another, and another, until a veritable flood of the creatures came running out of the woodwork.

"They're everywhere!" shouted an anonymous marine.

"Then shoot everywhere!" responded one of the marauders – Ramsay couldn't tell which.

Ramsay mentally activated the MQ-51 Helios drone imbedded in the back of his suit. He then grabbed the handles reaching out from under the drone, before his hands were magnetically attached to the machine. Capable of 1200 Newtons of upwards thrust, the MQ-51 could lift 300 kilograms while accelerating at 4 meters per second squared. Weighing a minute 21.9 kilograms, the small, circular drone easily lifted Ramsay into the air at a rapid rate. A few seconds later, Ramsay found himself a meter or so above the treetops. A mental command and half a second later, he was crouching on one of the enormous branches extending out of the trees.

"Sit rep," he said to the drone, which was hovering a few meters on top of him. The neural connection between him and the drone eliminated the need for vocal directives, but the old traditionalist in him demanded he talk to his machines.

"Scans detect approximately 2200 alien organisms in a kilometer radius. Estimated time of arrival to our location: 3 minutes."

"What's going on upstairs? Any reinforcements coming?"

"Aerial scans do not reveal any friendly aircraft en route to our location. If launched now, drop pods would arrive in approximately 22 minutes and dropships in 2.5 hours."

"So we're on our own, eh? Bloody REMFs. Damn pencil-pushers don't give a shit about us down here."

Another simple command unrooted and activated Ramsay's weapon of choice, an M106 Sniper Weapons System, the military variant of the civilian Remington 2700-C. One of the older bolt-action variants, it was equipped with a Scimidt &amp; Tamer ATACR 5-125x68mm scope that allowed him to zoom an incredible 125x with no shakiness, thanks to the stabilizers built into his suit. Its barrel was 28 inches long, and it weighed 5.22 kilograms empty, and 8.09 kilograms full. It could be used both armored and unarmored, although unarmored, he would not be able to utilize the incredible synchronization between his armor's AI and the firearm.

"Activate camo," he said.

To the uninitiated and untrained, it looked like Ramsay's suit grew leaves and foliage out of nowhere, until he was practically invisible next to the rest of the tree. Soldiers understood that the camouflage was actually the result of an incredible stealth system imbedded into the suit that both projected the surrounding environment on top of the user and suppressed the excess heat that would inevitably bleed off the suit.

Projecting the disguise took an incredible amount of energy, which in term generated heat. It was simple physics, the first law of thermodynamics at its simplest. Internal energy changes meant that heat flowed out of the system, in this case Ramsay's suit. Suppressing this outflow would overheat the interior of the suit immensely, but letting it flow uncontested would send out a thermal beacon to any enemies using even the most basic thermal detection equipment. It was a problem that had plagued the Confederacy's first attempts to create cloaked starfighters – the excess heat bled off the craft made any attempts to make spacecraft invisible impossible. Instead, the Confederacy had come up with an ingenious solution: directional heat dispersion. Heat was radiated either backwards or forwards through a series of small, flat, maneuverable radiators that dispersed the heat in a 7-degree cone. The focused heat would then be caught by a heat trapper, a small cube that would absorb and store all the excess heat. Once the trapper reached its maximum capacity, it would be jettisoned out into space, and another would take its place. Of course, the entire ship then had to be cooled to near 0 degrees centigrade – but that was what Hostile Environment Suits were for. For Ghosts and other cloaked/camo'd units, like Ramsay, the same principal applied. Excess heat was bled out at any point of the wearer's choosing, except for out of the head. However, cloaking a Ghost took much less energy than cloaking an entire space-superiority fighter, and projecting a camo-net over someone took even less. As a result, a device called a psionic disperser could be used – a small device that caught the heat, stored it, and using psionic energy, _banished_ it to another dimension. Many scientists believed that this secondary dimension was the Dark Templar's Void, the source of their power. No one quite knew how it worked – the scientist who had developed it, Dr. Yeltzig Heimer, had died years ago in a freak explosion, and he had refused to give away any of his inventions to both the Confederacy _and_ the Dominion. In response, the Confederacy had confiscated all his designs, which included the psionic disperser.

Either way, this as what allowed Ramsay to stay hidden from any peeking IR sensors. Closing an eye, Ramsay looked through his riflescope. What he saw amused his – a large ork, a full two heads taller than any other ork around him was waving around his sword, perched on an enormous creature that Ramsay could only compare to one of those oliphaunts from the Lord of the Rings holovids he had seen as a child.

_Wait a second,_ Ramsay thought. _Maybe that thing's the leader?_ Armed with only a hunch, Ramsay activated his suit's psionic filter, and indeed, he could detect a torrent of psionic activity centered around the creature. _That's the Warboss. I need to take it out_. _What, how the fuck do I know this?_

His rangefinder told him the monstrosity was 2.31 kilometers away, a long but not at all an impossible shot. Humidity was 78%, normal for an equatorial jungle but sweltering by any other standards. Ramsay checked his suit's aimbot, only to find that it was offline without a connection to the fleet.

_Ok, _he thought. _Why the fuck am I in offline mode?!_ Every Dominion soldier had an offline mode that could be activated by their superior officer, in case they went rogue. When in online-only mode, soldiers could not utilize their aimbots or BattleNet. Now, for some reason, the goddamn thing was on.

With his aimbot offline, Ramsay would need to manually target his target. The Warboss was 2,311.3 meters away, and his the M106 rifed 10mm spikes at 2,700 meters per second. That meant it would take the bullet roughly .85 seconds to reach his target, during which the bullet would drop approximately 8 meters from gravity. He raised his rifle a few mili-ticks to compensate for the fall. His suit detected a slight wind, about 2.8 kilometers per hour to the west. A few ticks to the right (he was facing south) took care of that. His finger came off the trigger guard and began to squeeze the trigger, increasing the pressure ever so slightly – the breeze intensified, forcing him to move three ticks right – then he fired.

The Remington 2700-C fired 6.2mm spikes 33.8mm long. Used mainly in hunting, it was renowned for putting nice, clean holes in the prey that hunters hunted. The M106 was known for turning humans into red mist and tissue paper. The moment Ramsay pulled the trigger, a 10x83mm hollow-point spike blasted out the end of his rifle at close to Mach 8. It traversed the 2310 meters between Ramsay and his target in less than a second, and slammed into the Warboss' face with the power of 50 kilograms of high explosives. The pressure created in the hollow pit in the front of the spike forced the lead inside the bullet to expand outwards, increasing the axial diameter of the spike immensely as it traveled through the ork's surprisingly large brain. The mushrooming effect of the expanding bullet pulverized the brain into bits of cranial matter that were expelled out of the exploding head at extreme velocities. Through his scope, Ramsay could see the surrounding creatures being splattered in the Warboss' blood. Satisfied, Ramsay cranked the bolt, loading another spike into the breech.

However, before he could target another ork, a surprising thing happened. The surrounding orks were (understandably) stunned for a moment – then they erupted in a cacophony of carnage as they turned on each other with their crude melee weapons. The giant elephantine creature – he suddenly realized it was a Squiggoth - the Warboss had been mounted on began rampaging through the ranks, killing everything in its path. A few of the larger orks (Ramsay was beginning to think that size designated rank in this society) tried to rally their forces and were moderately successful, until another, larger ork came to challenge it. It was violent, it was horrific, and it was beautiful to Ramsay's eyes.

_Note to self, _he thought. _Kill the big one._

Satisfied, he locked in his rifle and flew down on his drone. He floated down the few meters to the ground slowly, landing on the soft ground with a thump. He dropped his helmet, letting his cramped neck stretch a bit. His augmented eyes saw orks locked in combat everywhere, mostly with themselves. The few that were still engaging Dominion forces were quickly put down by bursts of C-14 fire.

Sergeant Chavez approached Ramsay. He pointed, sweeping his arm in a wide semicircle. "You did this?"

He nodded. "Affirmative, sir. Took out their boss, the rest of 'em turned on each other."

"Good work, Gunnery Sergeant. I just got reconnected to HQ, and reinforcements should be here in about 15 minutes. So sit tight, and wait for extraction." He turned to leave. "Oh, and Sergeant?"

"Yes?"

"You saved a lot of lives today. I'm going to personally make sure this goes on your record. Good work."

All around, the small force was going about the unpleasant task of collecting their dead. Many of the unarmored scientists had been ripped apart in the opening salvo, and another had died in the resulting battle. None of the marines or marauders had died, although three were wounded, one in critical condition.

There was something strange about the entire situation. Normally, a squad would have had at least a medic or two, yet none had been assigned to this task. It would seem that for something as important as first contact with an alien race, Command would have sent more bodies in there. And then there was the way he magically knew everything about the enemy, down to the specific names and roles. He was no psionic, and he sure as hell was no ghost.

A thunderous sound announced the arrival of reinforcements. Three dropships landed in the LZ, breaking through trees and other plants. An entire platoon came out of the first dropship, with an entire major to boot. Medics came spilling out, with their hover-stretchers and laser scalpels and whatever the hell they used to work their magic.

He caught the major – Major Buchanan, he read – walking, no marching towards him with about a dozen marines. He immediately saw trouble; that major was _not_ here to congratulate his performance.

"Gunnery Sergeant Benjamin Ramsay!" the major said in a booming voice. "You are hereby under arrest for treason, desertion, and attempted murder of military personnel. As per your contract, you will not be given legal counsel and may be interrogated without the presence of a lawyer. Will you comply?"

_What. The. Hell?!_

* * *

**A/N: Well, finally Chapter 4 is here. I retconned the earlier chapter because I felt it didn't really fit the mood of the story. And yes, this is our actual main character, although Valerian and Rohan will play important roles. Hopefully the long chapter makes up for the delays, and I'll see ya next time!**


End file.
